


Virtually Yours

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: College AU, M/M, Sexting, Social Media, non magical au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-10-01 19:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Intelligent yet naïve Columbia University freshmen Quentin Coldwater is drawn into a virtual world of mystery when he stumbles upon the seductive Instagram account of a fascinating stranger.





	Virtually Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Whitespire’s Armory, Week Six, “social media.” I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Thanks to @brakebills97 for help with the title! Comments and kudos are magic, and, as always, thanks for reading.

Virtually Yours

By Lexalicious70 (all_hale_eliot)

_the_inconceivable_1 _

Quentin frowned at the graffiti etched over the sink as he washed his hands and the general din of the literary building went on outside the men’s room, the one on the first floor that always seemed to be the cleanest. The scrawled message was inked in black Sharpie and outlined in pastel blue, and Quentin ripped a paper towel free from the dispenser to dry his hands as he considered the underscores.

_Twitter account? Or maybe an Instagram. What’s so inconceivable? Everyone has one of those. _

“Quentin!” Julia’s voice called from outside the door. “Did you flush yourself? We’re going to be late for Dr. Kelley’s class!”

Quentin started at the call, then glanced up at the graffiti one more time before committing the name to memory. Few details escaped it, which was why Quentin had made the Dean’s List his first semester at Columbia, where he was pursuing a dual English Lit and Library Sciences degree, but his circle of friends—Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson, Penny Adiyodi, Julia Wicker, Kady-Orloff-Diaz and Alice Quinn—would tell him, having his nose stuck in a book all the time didn’t necessarily make him smart about everything.

They were probably right, and likely why Quentin felt so confused all the time. Here he was, six months into his freshman year, and he had yet to go to his first college party, pledge a fraternity, (oh, how his father wanted that for him) or even go on a date. Julia had formed her circle of friends around him and he knew they liked him well enough, but there was still a part of his heart that remained unsettled.

“Quentin!” Julia called again, and Quentin adjusted the canvas strap of his leather Sharo bag before walking out to meet her. His childhood friend, petite, freckled and currently quite annoyed, glared up at him. “What took you so long?”

“Nothing! There was a line, that’s all.” They headed down the hall toward their 18th century lit class. As they settled into their desks near the middle of the auditorium ten minutes later, Quentin produced a fine-line Sharpie pen and jotted down what he’d seen on the men’s room wall on the inner cover of his composition book.

_the_inconceivable_1. _

****

“We need another fucking power strip in this room!”

Quentin glanced up from his narrow twin bed by the door to see Penny scowling and stalking the room, a hotplate in one hand.

“We’re already one past the two-strip limit. And we aren’t allowed to have a hotplate,” Quentin pointed out. Penny paused, his expression suggesting that Quentin was the stupidest individual he’d ever had the misfortune of encountering.

“Man, that’s a scofflaw! Every room has a hotplate.” Penny all but crawled under his own bed to search. Across the room, their other roommate, Eliot, watched with an air of detached amusement, his long, lanky frame sprawled all over the bed.

“Every room?” He drawled.

“Coldwater over there thinks the dorm has some hotplate-sniffin’ dogs or some shit!” Penny backed out from under the bed, his short dark hair crowned with dust bunnies.

“Fine. Set your bed on fire because you’re too cheap to Uber Eats your Pad Thai.” Quentin dismissed himself from the conversation and curled up on the corner of his bed, phone in hand. It was a late-model Samsung, a gift from his dad, and although Quentin preferred the feel and scent of a book, he had to admit that a phone came in handy for taking recorded notes, quick calculations, and for making lists. Kady and Eliot, both drama/dance majors, had prodded him onto social media a few months ago and while he didn’t post often, he did like commenting on his friends’ daily posts. Ignoring Penny’s continued bitching, he opened Instagram and searched for the account name he’d scribbled in his notebook. The app notified him the account was private, and indecision warred in Quentin’s mind for a few moments before curiosity got the best of him and he sent a follow request. His phone chimed less than 30 seconds later, letting him know he was approved.

_That was fast, _he thought to himself, glancing up to see if anyone had noticed the sound. Eliot was now laying on his belly, facing away from Quentin, propped up on his elbows as he flipped a page in his _Theory of Theater_ textbook. Penny had found an outlet for his hotplate and was mixing cheap-looking instant coffee into a white mug that proclaimed, PUNCH TODAY IN THE FACE. Penny Adiyodi in a nutshell, folks. Quentin shook his head in dismissal and returned his attention to his phone, thumbing the icon for the account, which was a closed eye stylized with winged purple eyeliner. The pictures loaded one by one and Quentin felt his cheeks flood with heat. The account featured an individual who wore a purple gauzy scarf as a mask, much in the style of the lead character in _The Princess Bride_. Quentin swept through the photos, most of which featured close-ups of an array of body parts—a bare chest, a pierced nipple and, to Quentin’s fascination and shock, a flushed, erect cock. None of the photos bore captions, and the account’s profile gave little clue to the owner, as it stated only, _“I am inconceivable.”_

_What’s the point? _Quentin asked himself. _Vanity? Kink? Something to pass the time? _He passed a series of pics that featured a muscular lower back and a pale but firm ass. The unsettled feeling Quentin carried in his lower abdomen gripped him completely and he found himself liking several of the photos before he could lose his nerve and question his own motives.

***

The following morning, Quentin returned from the dorm’s showers to find several Instagram notices on his phone, which he’d left charging on the small white shelf above his bed. He pulled it down, his tawny brown hair still damp from his shower, and clicked on the notify bar. One was a reaction to his likes and the other was a request to accept a private message from the user. Quentin stared at it—he was temporarily alone in the room, as Penny preferred morning classes and Eliot usually went to meet up with Margo and sometimes Alice too, as she and Margo had just begun dating. After making sure the door to the room was shut and locked, Quentin accepted the DM request, his heart slamming. He had time to pull on a tee shirt before his phone chimed again. He picked it up and opened the message.

the_inconceivable_1: _Thanks for liking my pics. Wanna chat? _

Quentin hesitated, sweating despite the recent shower. He’d never gotten a DM before—most of his friends texted his main SMS and a Canadian friend he’d met at NYCC the year before sometimes texted him on What’sApp, but messages from strangers were rare. He picked out a reply with one finger, what Julia called his “chicken-peck” typing.

fly_you_fillorian_fools: _Hi. What do you want to chat about?_

the_ inconceivable_1: _Where r u from? _

fly_you_fillorian_fools: _Brooklyn. You?_

the_ inconceivable_1: _Here and there. Been all over the US. But you liked my dick pic, so why don’t we talk about that instead? You into dick?_

Quentin started and nearly dropped his phone. He glanced at the small digital clock next to his bed and realized his next class was in 45 minutes. He double checked the room’s door lock before curling up on the corner of his bed, near the wall, so he could lean against it.

fly_you_fillorian_fools_: I don’t know? I guess I am_

the_ inconceivable_1: _I don’t think we have to guess, darling. Otherwise u probably wouldn’t have answered my DM. So what’s the problem? Got a girl who doesn’t know u like cock? Strict Christian parents? Have u been chemically castrated?_

fly_you_fillorian_fools: _Jesus, no! I just—I don’t have anyone. And I’m in college, I don’t live with my folks. _

the_inconceviable_1: _I do love a smart boy!_

fly_you_fillorian_fools: _How do you know I’m a smart boy? _

the_inconceviable_1: _Cuz u text in complete sentences and use punctuation _

Quentin felt heat rush to his cheeks and turn the tips of his ears pink.

the_inconceviable_1: _Bet u a dollar ur blushing, smart boy _

“Oh my God, shut up,” Quentin murmured to himself, but a grin surfaced anyway. He replied with a tongue-sticking-out emoji.

the_inconceviable_1: _U know how to use that tongue otherwise? _

Quentin grinned again and settled against the wall as the conversation continued. He never noticed the subtle shift of the light in the room as morning ticked over to afternoon. It wasn’t until an insistent rap at the door made Quentin sit up and blink. He tucked his phone away and went to the door to find Julia glaring up at him, her hands on her hips.

“Uhm—hi, Jules!”

“Hi Jules? That’s all you have to say to me after blowing off European Lit and not even bothering to text? What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing! I—I didn’t sleep well last night and must have dozed off after my shower. That’s all!” He insisted as Julia’s glare intensified.

“Missing class isn’t like you, Q. Are you sure there isn’t anything else going on?”

“No.” Quentin tried not to glance back at his phone as it chimed a few times. “I’ve got some reading to do, all right? We’ll grab a pizza later at the Hub.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Julia gave her friend one more suspicious glance as she turned to walk away and Quentin closed and locked the door before leaning against it with a sigh. He supposed he should have asked Julia for the class notes, but he was ahead in his reading anyway, so he sat back down on the bed and picked up his phone.

the_inconceviable_1_: u still alone? _

fly_you_fillorian_fools: _Yeah . . . _

the_inconceviable_1: _Good—look at my dick pics and touch yourself_

Quentin felt his entire body flush at the comment. A part of him was almost offended at the commanding tone but the submissive in him, which he hadn’t realized had its hand on the wheel of his sex drive until recently, took a hard left toward the mental road marked YES. He double-checked the locked door, squirmed under the covers with his phone, and obeyed.

***

_Three weeks later _

“So what’s up with Quentin anyway?”

Julia glanced up from her rapidly-cooling piece of pizza to see Eliot standing over her. She shoved her books aside so he could sit down. The Hub, which featured almost a dozen food kiosks and a line of vending machines, was not as busy as it had been 45 minutes earlier when she’d sat down, but Eliot still had to raise his voice a bit to be heard over the general din.

“Fucked if I know,” Julia sighed as she eyed the congealed grease on the pepperoni circles before picking them off. “He keeps blowing me off, he’s missed a few classes—and this is the guy who had perfect attendance for three years running at our high school. He even won an award for it!” She sighed. “I don’t know, El . . . if it were anyone but Q I’d say he’d started taking drugs.”

“That’s like saying one of the Teletubbies is hooked on Adderall,” Eliot frowned, and Julia nodded.

“I know! Maybe it’s just the adjustment to college. Or maybe he’s got some secret lover.”

Eliot frowned and toyed with one of the many rings he wore on his right hand.

“He hasn’t even been on one date since he’s been here, and giving eye contact makes him look like he’s about to shit his pants.”

Julia cast him a sidelong glance.

“You sound almost jealous, El.”

Eliot scoffed.

“Please. My dance card is more than full.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you?”

“Rude!” Eliot frowned but made no move to leave the table. Julia shook her head.

“I just wish he’d tell me what’s going on. Would you talk to him, El?”

“And what would he tell me that he wouldn’t tell his best childhood friend?”

“Well maybe it’s a guy thing. Something Q feels he can’t tell his dad and he can’t tell me because—” she gestured. “It might be a . . .”

“A dick thing?” Eliot suggested, and Julia nodded. Eliot sighed and rose from the table.

“All right. I’ll try, but no guarantees.”

***

the_inconceviable_1: _Are u close? I bet u are, little slut! _

Quentin’s arm trembled as he jerked his erect cock, a huddled lump under his bedcovers with his phone, hidden so he could feign sleep if Eliot or Penny happened to come home. He laboriously picked out a reply with his left hand, as his right was busy.

fly_you_fillorian_fools: _fuck yes so close_

Quentin and his cyber partner had been sexting nearly every other day and sending erotic photos back forth for nearly a month now. It was a time of many firsts for Quentin, including sending private photos of himself, sexting, and revealing information about himself that he never imagined telling anyone, least of all a virtual stranger. But this beautiful man in the purple mask, with his haunting eyes that were always tinged with different colors, held sway over him and seemed to understand what he needed, even if he didn’t understand himself.

These thoughts were washed out as the contractions of an intense orgasm took over Quentin’s body and he bit his lower lip to prevent himself from crying out. He rode the wave, the one that quieted that unsettled place in his heart and chest, before relaxing and letting himself bliss out. His eyes flickered open a moment later as he heard someone’s key in the door and he wiped his hands and thighs with some wipes he always kept nearby during these sessions and then stilled. He listened as the door closed and recognized Eliot’s measured footsteps. Yes, definitely Eliot—Penny always sounded like an elephant decked out in full combat gear when he entered any room.

“Quentin?” Eliot asked a moment later. His footsteps came close to the bed and Quentin caught a whiff of the sandalwood cologne he preferred. “Are you asleep?”

Quentin counted to five before giving a sleepy, questioning noise as he pulled the covers down.

“I was. What, Eliot?”

“I promised Julia I’d talk to you.”

“About what?” Quentin made a show of rubbing his eyes.

“Well, to start with, why you’re in here jerking off when you were supposed to meet her for lunch twenty minutes ago.”

Quentin felt heat rush to his cheeks.

“I—I was not!”

“Then are you raising an infant under those sheets, and that’s why I smell baby oil and scented wipes?”

Quentin’s blush deepened.

“So I wanted a little time to myself. Fucking sue me.”

“Julia thinks you have a secret girlfriend.”

“I don’t!”

“So it’s a secret boyfriend then?”

“Do you fucking see me in here with anyone?” Quentin fumed. “It’s nobody’s business, El!”

“Suit yourself.” Eliot got up and crossed over to his side of the room, where he busied himself in a dresser drawer. Scowling, Quentin did a better job of cleaning up before tugging up his jeans and boxers. A moment later, his phone chimed.

the_inconceviable_1: _did my naughty boy come without my permission? _

Quentin scooped up his phone to reply.

fly_you_fillorian_fools: _I got interrupted, I’m sorry _He replied, shame and anger burning in his throat.

“It seems that you did,” Eliot spoke from directly behind him, and Quentin whirled, his hands clenching around the phone. For a moment his brain refused to process what his eyes were seeing and all he could do was sputter. Eliot flashed him a grin, the purple mask making his smile look even brighter than usual.

“What—what—” Quentin stammered, and Eliot took him by the shoulders to sit him down on the bed.

“Easy, Q. It’s all right.” He tugged off the scarf and put it into Quentin’s hands. The younger boy stared up at him, his dark eyes overly bright.

“El . . . why?” He managed at last, and Eliot reached out to touch his hair.

“Because I had to know as much as you did, Q. Because I couldn’t ask directly, and you probably wouldn’t have given me a straight answer—if you’ll pardon the pun. So I put that graffiti on the bathroom wall a month ago, knowing it was the facilities you used most often.”

It took a few moments, but Quentin finally found his rationale again.

“I don’t understand . . . how did you know I’d check out the account? And where did you take these pictures?”

“At Margo and Alice’s dorm. It was easy enough to use a clean sheet as a neutral backdrop, especially since I never showed you all of my body at once. And I didn’t know. Like I said, it was a question only you could answer.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Quentin asked, and Eliot smiled.

“Q, you silly thing . . . I’m telling you now.” Eliot touched his face. “From the moment we met, I could tell you were carrying the weight of your own confused sexuality on your shoulders. And maybe I tricked you . . . or maybe I helped you understand what it is you really want. Honestly, Quentin, didn’t the inconceivable one help you figure that out? Didn’t he help you answer all those questions you were carrying around inside you? Didn’t he help you it’s all right to give into your desires every now and then? That’s it’s okay to break the rules sometimes?”

“I guess I can’t deny any of that,” Quentin admitted as he turned the scarf over in his hands. “But, uhm—all those times we sex-texted—”

“It’s called sexting, Q.”

“Right, sexted . . . it wasn’t just for my benefit, was it? I mean—did you enjoy it too?”

Eliot cupped Quentin’s chin and leaned in to give him a warm kiss on the mouth. When he pulled away, Quentin was gazing at him.

“I enjoyed it very much, Q.”

“But where did you—”

“Campus bathrooms, mostly. Or at Margo and Alice’s place when they were out, with the stipulation I left the place like I found it.”

“Jesus Christ, El!”

“It was all part of the excitement,” Eliot chuckled. “Would I get a whack across the head from Margo the next time I saw her because I forgot to flush a tissue?”

Quentin gave a rueful shake of his head.

“So . . . why did you choose that screen name?”

“I was hoping _The Princess Bride_ reference would catch your attention.”

“I guess it did, on some level.” He handed the scarf back to Eliot. “I guess we won’t need this anymore.”

“I guess we won’t.” Eliot tossed it toward his own bed. “What do I tell Julia?”

Quentin tipped his eyes toward the ceiling in thought before sliding his arms around Eliot and pulling him down onto the bed.

“Tell her that some things are just too inconceivable to explain.”

FIN


End file.
